Well Jamie, it's really just not that simple for us housewives lacking confidence and in our 40s, particularly for those with a bad knee.
****
Throwing a glamorous dinner party in Kennington is, in many ways, a lot like throwing a glamorous dinner party in Beverly Hills except that in Kennington, the houses are invariably much smaller, you have to cook and serve the food yourself and there's a great deal more low-flying cloud.
Not deterred with these harshly and unfairly imposed parameters, I embarked upon the task of wowing a select few guests with a sumptuous three-course dinner. I was looking for something informal yet thoughtful. Thoughtful but not too fussy. Detailed yet casual. Yes, casual not fussy. Daring yet familiar and comfortable. Funny yet serious. Different yet samey. I wanted it to be all those things.
The reality is that as I have become older and my husband and friends have matured gracefully alongside me, the bar to entertaining has been steadily rising. When I was 20-something and had bags of energy, eating "spagbol" out of bowls with a can of Red Stripe whilst sitting on the floor of a studio apartment was a perfectly acceptable evening. But it seems that as we grow tired and old, the amount we do and the amount we take on seems to increase rather than decrease. Small shared flats have been traded for our own, larger flats and then swapped again for larger houses. Relaxed, impromptu afternoons in the pub have been abandoned in favour of the diary with a 3-week lead time and to the selfless management of children, dogs and second homes.
It's a well-known fact that the more space and "stuff" you have, the more stuff you use and the more stuff you buy to fill that space. And so rather than becoming simpler, life seems to have become vastly more complicated. So now that I am 40, I choose to arrange my life over 5 floors and start pretending I can cook cordon blue. Really?
The answer to this problem of increasing floor space and decreasing mobility is, of course, staff. The more the better. On the upside, they do stuff for you. On the downside, they don't do it for free (unless it's a fetish of theirs to "serve", which will mean all sorts of other commitments not befitting a housewife of Kennington). It can also be a little awkward to have them hanging around. Since my cleaner found some porn on my computer staring out at her the other day, I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof when she's around. If we had staff full time (the ideal scenario), I'm worried that I wouldn't be able to kick back and eat Monster Munch whilst watching Homes Under the Hammer, drinking heavily. My life would effectively be over.
With the date of the dinner party fast approaching and still very much staff-less, I knuckled down to dinner party planning - supposedly a "fun" task. Most people that have dinner parties organise them as well as going to work. How is this possible? I prayed to Lisa Vanderpump, my God Mother in LA, that she might send help, preferably in the form of actual staff rather than just good wishes.
Here are just a few of the things that any housewife (be they in LA or Kennington) must consider when taking the brave step of entertaining. These are in descending order of priority (loosely):
1 - Guests. Clearly, the guests are important unless you're modelling your life on that of Wallis Simpson. It is said that she would have the table lavishly set for guests every night even though no-one was invited. And she never ate anything anyway so it was all horribly pointless. The guests must "gel" and preferably have no awkward histories. Conversation is not your sole responsibility but if you invite nobs then you will get awkward nob-like conversation which will be exhausting to manage.
2 - Food. This comes a close second to guests. Some guests will drink so much that you could consider just telling them they had dinner at the end of the night and they would not question you. The food - fresh, summery, zingy, themed, traditional, hearty. Whatever. Starter, main course, dessert. Consider cheese, consider dietary requirements. Consider stress of flambé-ing table side and adjust menu accordingly.
3 - Table setting and seating arrangement. Again, a table says a lot to set the tone of your dinner party and so it must convey the right look for the right time of year as well as the right time of day. Seating arrangements give you the chance to arrange your guests around the table as if they were flowers. Take height, hairstyle and colour of skin / clothes into consideration at this point. Trust me, it's important.
4 - Pre-dinner drinks. Cocktails - martinis, aviations. Fizz - champagne, prosecco (there might be a bitter taste of recession all the way through the prosecco, however). Gin and tonic. Vodka and tonic.
5 - Pre-dinner snacks. Nuts, crisps, cheese straws (preferably homemade). Keep away from Wotsits even though you'll be cracking into them once the guests have gone.
6 - Music - Something funky yet cool, uplifting yet trancy, sing-a-long-y yet no-one singing, fun yet cool, urban yet country. Something well Dench. Well Judi.
7 - After-dinner drinks - Generally the same chateau blotto you've been serving throughout dinner will do, but sometimes things turn back to cocktails towards the end of the night just in order to make sure your guests reach their most drunk as they step into their taxis.
8 - Flowers - on the table, in the bathrooms, in the sitting rooms. My God Mother, Lisa Vanderpump, would say there is no limit on the flowers but personally, I would say some flowers are nice but it shouldn't look like someone just got married. Or died.
9 - Candles (table, bathrooms and scattered around frivolously). Again - think tasteful accent - not seance, not creepy church.
10 - Fresh water - a bit like in the case of your dog, fresh water should always be available to your guests. It's cruel not to allow them access to it even if they are adamant that they prefer the alcohol exclusively.
So anyway, it's not surprising that I was getting into a right old state ("two and eight", Jamie Oliver might say) about the impending dinner party by the time the actual date came around in the Kennington society calendar.
Even though all the food was pre-prepared, it still had to be cooked at the correct temperature, at the right time, for the right amount of time. It had to be put onto warmed plates and served with bread and butter from a dish. Glasses needed to be refilled, the dog shackled to the telly, candles lit, patio jet-washed, lawn raked and mowed, kitchen floor cleaned, music put on, brasses on the front door polished, leaves swept up at the front, dog fed, toileted and brushed into a silky black magnificence.
As I started getting "we're nearly there" texts from the first guests, I started frantically running around, up and down stairs, shouting random words to hubby like "candles - toilet" and "gym kit - clear!". Beads of sweat were cultivating themselves on my furrowed brow. "Hi!!!", I sang casually as I threw open the door to guests laden down with champagne.
I'm not sure exactly what happened to the rest of the evening. Apparently, when the guests arrived, Giggy lunged towards them so violently that it was only the quick action of one of the guests that saved us from a broken telly and a dead dog. The moment the champagne started flowing, I seemed to switch seamlessly from host to guest mode, sitting back whilst enjoying the fruits of my labour. This was the point where I lapsed back into my 20's and an associated amnesia and began getting pissed. Ah, I remember now - drinking booze with friends = fun. Cooking = not fun.
A few glasses of champagne later and I was pissed. As thoughts turned to dinner (something I was expected to be involved with), my guest mode simply continued and I turned, along with the other guests, to Hubby. There was the awkward moment when everyone in the room realised that no-one was really in control of this particular ship. Luckily, he recognised that I was near breaking point and for the safety of everyone present that I should be withdrawn from service. Stood down. Some time later, Coq au Reisling was served up with incongruous, thumping Ibizan Bealearic beats and New Zealand pretend-Cloudy Bay.
I like to think that we did Kennington proud, overall. For a Tuesday night, it was not a bad effort and I probably lost a couple of pounds in weight. If we hosted more often, I'd be as thin as a pin.
 |
| Hassle-free entertaining |
The reality is that as I have become older and my husband and friends have matured gracefully alongside me, the bar to entertaining has been steadily rising. When I was 20-something and had bags of energy, eating "spagbol" out of bowls with a can of Red Stripe whilst sitting on the floor of a studio apartment was a perfectly acceptable evening. But it seems that as we grow tired and old, the amount we do and the amount we take on seems to increase rather than decrease. Small shared flats have been traded for our own, larger flats and then swapped again for larger houses. Relaxed, impromptu afternoons in the pub have been abandoned in favour of the diary with a 3-week lead time and to the selfless management of children, dogs and second homes.
It's a well-known fact that the more space and "stuff" you have, the more stuff you use and the more stuff you buy to fill that space. And so rather than becoming simpler, life seems to have become vastly more complicated. So now that I am 40, I choose to arrange my life over 5 floors and start pretending I can cook cordon blue. Really?
 |
| Staff: they get things done |
The answer to this problem of increasing floor space and decreasing mobility is, of course, staff. The more the better. On the upside, they do stuff for you. On the downside, they don't do it for free (unless it's a fetish of theirs to "serve", which will mean all sorts of other commitments not befitting a housewife of Kennington). It can also be a little awkward to have them hanging around. Since my cleaner found some porn on my computer staring out at her the other day, I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof when she's around. If we had staff full time (the ideal scenario), I'm worried that I wouldn't be able to kick back and eat Monster Munch whilst watching Homes Under the Hammer, drinking heavily. My life would effectively be over.
Here are just a few of the things that any housewife (be they in LA or Kennington) must consider when taking the brave step of entertaining. These are in descending order of priority (loosely):
1 - Guests. Clearly, the guests are important unless you're modelling your life on that of Wallis Simpson. It is said that she would have the table lavishly set for guests every night even though no-one was invited. And she never ate anything anyway so it was all horribly pointless. The guests must "gel" and preferably have no awkward histories. Conversation is not your sole responsibility but if you invite nobs then you will get awkward nob-like conversation which will be exhausting to manage.
2 - Food. This comes a close second to guests. Some guests will drink so much that you could consider just telling them they had dinner at the end of the night and they would not question you. The food - fresh, summery, zingy, themed, traditional, hearty. Whatever. Starter, main course, dessert. Consider cheese, consider dietary requirements. Consider stress of flambé-ing table side and adjust menu accordingly.
3 - Table setting and seating arrangement. Again, a table says a lot to set the tone of your dinner party and so it must convey the right look for the right time of year as well as the right time of day. Seating arrangements give you the chance to arrange your guests around the table as if they were flowers. Take height, hairstyle and colour of skin / clothes into consideration at this point. Trust me, it's important.
4 - Pre-dinner drinks. Cocktails - martinis, aviations. Fizz - champagne, prosecco (there might be a bitter taste of recession all the way through the prosecco, however). Gin and tonic. Vodka and tonic.
5 - Pre-dinner snacks. Nuts, crisps, cheese straws (preferably homemade). Keep away from Wotsits even though you'll be cracking into them once the guests have gone.
6 - Music - Something funky yet cool, uplifting yet trancy, sing-a-long-y yet no-one singing, fun yet cool, urban yet country. Something well Dench. Well Judi.
7 - After-dinner drinks - Generally the same chateau blotto you've been serving throughout dinner will do, but sometimes things turn back to cocktails towards the end of the night just in order to make sure your guests reach their most drunk as they step into their taxis.
8 - Flowers - on the table, in the bathrooms, in the sitting rooms. My God Mother, Lisa Vanderpump, would say there is no limit on the flowers but personally, I would say some flowers are nice but it shouldn't look like someone just got married. Or died.
9 - Candles (table, bathrooms and scattered around frivolously). Again - think tasteful accent - not seance, not creepy church.
10 - Fresh water - a bit like in the case of your dog, fresh water should always be available to your guests. It's cruel not to allow them access to it even if they are adamant that they prefer the alcohol exclusively.
So anyway, it's not surprising that I was getting into a right old state ("two and eight", Jamie Oliver might say) about the impending dinner party by the time the actual date came around in the Kennington society calendar.
Even though all the food was pre-prepared, it still had to be cooked at the correct temperature, at the right time, for the right amount of time. It had to be put onto warmed plates and served with bread and butter from a dish. Glasses needed to be refilled, the dog shackled to the telly, candles lit, patio jet-washed, lawn raked and mowed, kitchen floor cleaned, music put on, brasses on the front door polished, leaves swept up at the front, dog fed, toileted and brushed into a silky black magnificence.
As I started getting "we're nearly there" texts from the first guests, I started frantically running around, up and down stairs, shouting random words to hubby like "candles - toilet" and "gym kit - clear!". Beads of sweat were cultivating themselves on my furrowed brow. "Hi!!!", I sang casually as I threw open the door to guests laden down with champagne.
I'm not sure exactly what happened to the rest of the evening. Apparently, when the guests arrived, Giggy lunged towards them so violently that it was only the quick action of one of the guests that saved us from a broken telly and a dead dog. The moment the champagne started flowing, I seemed to switch seamlessly from host to guest mode, sitting back whilst enjoying the fruits of my labour. This was the point where I lapsed back into my 20's and an associated amnesia and began getting pissed. Ah, I remember now - drinking booze with friends = fun. Cooking = not fun.
A few glasses of champagne later and I was pissed. As thoughts turned to dinner (something I was expected to be involved with), my guest mode simply continued and I turned, along with the other guests, to Hubby. There was the awkward moment when everyone in the room realised that no-one was really in control of this particular ship. Luckily, he recognised that I was near breaking point and for the safety of everyone present that I should be withdrawn from service. Stood down. Some time later, Coq au Reisling was served up with incongruous, thumping Ibizan Bealearic beats and New Zealand pretend-Cloudy Bay.
I like to think that we did Kennington proud, overall. For a Tuesday night, it was not a bad effort and I probably lost a couple of pounds in weight. If we hosted more often, I'd be as thin as a pin.
